


wandering cocytus

by hydrolics



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, set after Siegfried's level 100 fate episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 12:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15219017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrolics/pseuds/hydrolics
Summary: After the Dragonslayer defeats his greatest enemy he subcomes to his wounds. During the time he spends resting his protegé must grapple with his own demons.





	wandering cocytus

 

 

“Dearie, you should take a break.”

Lancelot glanced over his shoulder at the door; standing there was one of the elder nurses, only the younger ones addressed him by his title, too scared to even look him in the eye. She was big boned and carried basins and other necessities for bathing in her plump arms.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “you probably need help moving him.” The old woman shuffled inside and set her supplies on the table next to the hospital bed.

“Nonsense. Been nursin’ for nearly thirty years now. I’ve hefted babes ‘eavier than the Dragonslayer.” She lightly patted Siegfried’s cheek for emphasis.

His face remained smooth, not a twitch pulled his face in reaction to the woman’s touch. It unnerved Lancelot. His teacher was a notoriously light sleeper and even the slightest noise would have woken him. The man had permanent shadows under his eyes ever since the end of his exile and he always looked worn out when he visited Feendrache, but still he walked through the castle with the same quiet strength. Now, his skin was sallow and bruised, swollen bags just above his cheekbones; wrapped in a thin hospital gown with the blankets pulled up his chin Siegfried looked frail and emaciated.

The nurse rucked the blankets to the edge of the bed and began to gently roll Siegfried onto his side. The unconscious man’s hair fell onto his face in greasy clumps and when the nurse tucked the strands behind his ear, Lancelot’s throat tightened.

“Please, ma’am, allow me to assist.”

Lancelot rose from his seat and supported Siegfried’s front, gooseflesh forming where Siegfried’s breath brushed across his skin. He just couldn’t stand sitting to the side and doing nothing while his teacher’s vulnerability was exposed before him. The old nurse glanced at him, eyebrows creased with barely hidden annoyance, but she stayed quiet as she turned to pull a large blanket from the basin and spread it over the sheets.

“Well then. If you feel so compelled to help, lay Sir Siegfried back down.” She smoothed the blanket down one more time and stepped back. She crossed her arms and leveled a look at Lancelot, its condescension balanced on her raised chin. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. Resting his hand behind Siegfried’s shoulder, Lancelot pushed him back onto the bed; Siegfried’s head lolled around the pillow and the sight of his slackened face shocked Lancelot enough to loosen his grip. He grasped at older man’s bedclothes to stop him but he could nothing but watch helplessly as he flopped back onto the mattress. Lancelot held his hands away from his body; as they trembled, his eyes darted around the room and settled on the window. The room Siegfried was assigned was so small, the number of paces it took him to walk from one wall to the next was a single digit. It was a cage with a bed in the center and its location in the corner of the hospital made him feel the staff expected Siegfried to die, that they wanted his death to be as inoffensive as possible. Water bubbled the window still, flowed over the edge, and filled his sight. The room bobbed in and out of focus as he floundered. Strange that he was drowning in air.

“Sir Lancelot?”

The nurse came around the bed and touched his elbow. Lancelot focused on the contact and slowed his breathing, counting the seconds between each quiet, stuttering gasp. He cleared his throat and brought a hand up to wipe his eyes. He was glad that it came away dry. His eyes skipped over the man on the bed and he looked down at the nurse. Her face had hardened but she regarded him softly as she scanned him for further signs of distress but he had already slipped behind his mask of chivalry. She slanted her eyes in suspicion at his serene face.

“Perhaps it would do you a bit of good to step outside for some fresh air. Though he is unaware, I’m sure Sir Siegfried would enjoy to have his bath _privately_ ,” her drawl pulled the final syllable in the word, emphasising the ‘-ly’.

Catching onto the offer that would free them of their awkward predicament, Lancelot nodded his head, muttered his assent, and exited the room. Closing the door behind him, Lancelot leaned against it, putting his weight on the solid oak. It had been four days since they brought Siegfried back from his fight against Hagen; even with his eyes closed Lancelot could see the events flickering behind his eyelids like a parade of grotesqueries.

Siegfried cleaving his undead clone in two.

Siegfried being gutted by the necromancer.

And Siegfried ending the madness by slitting Hagen’s throat.

As a knight, he swore to go through hell and back for the sake of his country and comrades but the battlefields he had seen paled in comparison to the gore he witnessed over those past few nights. Villages razed to the ground, their blackened frames still smoking, and cobblestone streets slick with blood, littered with hacked off limbs. And among it all was a scrap of navy cloth, fluttering innocently within the carnage….

Footsteps echoed from down the hallway, their sharp clack growing louder as the walker approached. Lancelot warily shouldered himself off the door and straightened his posture; it wouldn’t do for the captain of the White Dragons to be seen lounging around. He relaxed upon seeing Vane come around the corner. His eyes shifted to look behind his friend in search of the familiar trio.

“Where’s the Captain?”

Vane gave him a sheepish smile, but the pull of his facial muscles made it more akin to baring his teeth, when he relaxed his face Lancelot could still creases lining his lower eyelids.

“They had important business back on the Grandcypher so they had to go back, but they should back later today.”

Lancelot leaned back against the door and Vane mirrored him, their arms brushing against each other. “You look tired,” he said and Vane tilted his down to smile at him. “You too, Lancey.” Just hearing the old nickname was a fresh breath of normalcy in their stressful situation. “If any of the ladies saw you now you’d give ‘em a fright; I haven’t seen you with a stubble in years.” They both chuckled as the older man rubbed the bristles on his chin. A lightness remained as their laughter subsided and Lancelot felt the knot in his stomach loosen in their short respite. Vane turned so that he rested one arm on the door and jerked his head to the side towards it.

“What’s going on inside?’

“Siegfried’s taking a bath.”

Vane perked up, excitement bringing a flush to his cheeks. “Is he awake?” He was breathless in anticipation and at once Lancelot felt guilty for his poor wording. “No… the nurse is bathing him. He’s still unconscious.” A rectangle of sunlight on the floor was latticed by the windowpane’s shadow; Lancelot watched dark clouds slowly crawl across the pattern before rising his head to meet Vane’s eyes. His face was veiled but it passed and his face was clear once again. “That’s nice. That they’re taking such good care of him, “ Vane whispered. His eyes drifted to the side and Lancelot could see the gears in his head turn as he sifted through his mind for a change of topic.

“I meant what I said Lancey, you look tired,” Vane said, sizing up his companion, “there’s no reason for us to be here so maybe you should back go to your room and freshen up, rest a little.” Lancelot huffed, “Vane, you don’t need to-”

“But I am worried.”

Lancelot was struck into silence from Vane’s outburst and he used this pause to continue. “You haven’t left Siegfried’s side since the night before last. You haven’t bathed and I don’t even know if you’re even feeding yourself properly. _Please_ , _Lancelot_ , take care of yourself. I don’t want you to wind up in a hospital bed and I’m sure Siegfried wouldn’t want you to either,” he had a pained expression on his face and Lancelot could feel the helplessness wafting from him. He had to admit it, he had let himself go since Siegfried was hospitalized. He felt grimey and the looks the nurses gave him ranged from pity to disgust. He ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed the oil from between them.

“Okay, okay Vane,” Lancelot sighed. He rose off the door and Vane heartily clapped him on the shoulder as they walked away. “Great! I’m in need of a bath myself. If Granny saw me now she’d tan my hide. Hey,” he squeezed Lancelot and smiled down at him, a more natural looking one, “after we both get cleaned up, let’s meet up with the Captain and the others and go out for dinner. Wadda ya say?” The pair walked further away from Siegfried’s room but Lancelot couldn’t help but glance back at it one last time. It looked innocuous now that the door was shut; with the large sunlit window and flower laden console table it was indistinguishable from any other hallway in the castle. He turned back to Vane’s eager face and grinned.

“Yes, dinner sounds nice.”

* * *

 

Steam billowed around Lancelot’s shoulders as he exited the bathroom, towelling his hair dry. The roving clouds from earlier fulfilled their promise of bringing rain, fat raindrops drummed against the window. The sky was dark and velvety; sharp bolts of lightning flashed and thunder shook the precariously stacked books on his desk as the storm clamored on. It was still early in the afternoon but with the ill weather Lancelot wondered if it would even clear up by dinnertime. Still, Vane was right, after a long hot shower Lancelot felt more comfortable in his skin. After scrubbing the film of dirt off his body, a calm had suffused through his entire body and his muscles felt more relaxed than they had been in ages.

Giving his room a quick once over, he was definitely the cleanest thing inside. Beating back the drowsiness fogging his mind, Lancelot began to gather the clothing strewn across the floor; he wouldn't be able to have his room clean before he had to leave but the least he could manage was clearing up his bedroom floor. Sluggishly padding between his bedroom and the laundry hamper in the bathroom, swathes of hardwood peeked between gaps of clothing. The amount of visible flooring increased in proportion to the overflow of dirty laundry in his bathroom. After realizing that no amount of pushing down would create more space in the hamper, Lancelot piled the rest of his clothes to the side of it.

It was doing this that he noticed it.

Just as when he first discovered it in the wreckage of the village, he could have ignored it but the sight of that painstakingly familiar blue always drew his eye. Curled like a viper around the leg of his corduroy trousers, it was the perfect mimic of when he happened upon that scrap of cloth caught on a fallen roof beam. At the time, it was the definitive peace of evidence needed to prove Siegfried’s guilt in the massacre, but it still didn’t seem enough. Lancelot’s mind had turned back to a previous time when Siegfried had been branded a traitor; seeing his mentor soaked in their sovereign’s blood, Lancelot could not think of any possible explanation to prove Siegfried’s innocence. All went according to Isabella’s plan and the entire kingdom lost faith in the Dragonslayer, even his most loyal student. _No_ , he had thought, _there had to be more to it_. The first time, he fell for it hook, line, and sinker but this time he _had_ to look at the larger picture.

Now, in the safety of the future and comfort of his quarters, the blindness of his devotion horrified him. Had he really placed Siegfried before the civilians he had sworn to protect? Everything had worked out for the best but a responsible leader would have shown the cloth to his partners and together they would have deduced the meaning of it and how it tied to the witness’s account of events. And instead, he shoved the scrap into his pocket like a child stealing sweets in a store. Picking the strip out from his laundry, he held it and rubbed his thumb wonderingly across its threadbare surface. As much as Hagen disgusted him, his attention to detail was astounding; if Siegfried hadn’t saved him from his zombified doppelganger Lancelot would have died believing that his master had betrayed him. It was odd to think that not too long ago a different Lancelot was prepared to kill Siegfried, would have enjoyed doing it, but now he would rather die than turn his sword towards his teacher. A sudden clap of thunder shook him from his thoughts. His bedroom had grown colder while he was preoccupied and Lancelot’s eyes were drawn from the cloth in his hand to the fireplace.

“Maybe I could,” he licked away the sweat collecting above his top lip, “but that would be….”

_Spoliation of evidence_

Siegfried had taught him that while training him to become vice captain. Destruction of evidence was a crime severe enough to warrant time in prison… if he actually committed a crime in the first place. Lancelot tossed the scrap onto his desk and rushed towards the fireplace. As far as he knew he was the only one who was aware of that damned cloth and King Carl had long since explained the situation to the public. Most importantly, Lancelot had seen Siegfried’s innocence with his own eyes so there was no point in continuing to beat himself over the head. Cursing under his breath, Lancelot struggled with the matchbook until he managed to strike one and threw into the logs. Minutes passed as the fire slowly consumed the kindling, aggravating his already frayed nerves, but once the wood was sufficiently burning Lancelot pitched the fabric into the fireplace. He watched as it burned; watched the flames swarm around the offering like ants on a sugar cube. It was mesmerizing and cathartic.

The scrap of cloth molded onto the charred wood, its navy hue darkening as it flaked off to join the ash at the bottom of the grate. How surprising it was to see the small thing burn knowing it survived a village fire. Lancelot breathed in deeply, the heady scent of woodsmoke tickling his nose; he expected the cloth to sour the scent in some way but he didn’t notice anything amiss. The anticlimactic end to his dilemma revealed the stupidity of his panic and Lancelot couldn't help but to release a breathy chuckle. The fire had warmed his room and his bed looked more inviting than kneeling in front of the fireplace. The clock on the mantelpiece showed that he still had hours left to wile away. Nothing better to do than to catch up on the sleep he missed.

He folded back the duvet and laid down, when he pressed his face against the sheets he could smell the soft floral soap the maids used. Thunder crashed overheard and rattled the windows, but instead of the shock from earlier it comforted Lancelot; the shadows projected from the fire danced mesmerizingly on the ceiling. Combined with the sultry warmth, he grew drowsy, his eyelids weighed down with impending sleep. Tucking the duvet comfortably under his chin, Lancelot gave in to his exhaustion and slipped into the depths of unconsciousness.

 


End file.
